


Swallow My Heartbeat

by Angelic_Disaster



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst, A little bit of gore, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cannibal sex meaning sex between cannibals and sex while cannibalizing will graham, Cannibalism, Cannibalism Puns, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Will Graham, Do i have to tag cannibalism and murder?, Flirting, Food is People, Food is Will Graham, Give me rimming or give me death, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hannibal is a monsterfucker, M/M, Monsterfuking, Murder Husbands, NO Dom/Sub, Pining, Power Dynamics, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Season/Series 02, Slighty monsterfucker, Supernatural Elements, Surrealism, The polar opposite of slow burn we have porn in the third chapter, Top Hannibal Lecter, Unreliable Narrator, Will Graham is a Tease, Will is Horny, but he is also HORNY FOR THAT CANNIBAL DICK, no i mean he literally has horns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29782191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelic_Disaster/pseuds/Angelic_Disaster
Summary: Freshly released from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will Graham could do a lot of things. For example, he could go home and play with his dogs. That would be the most rational thing normal people would do.Instead, he decided to chop his hand and give it to Hannibal Lecter as a snack.Or: Will Graham has the ability to regenerate every part of his body and now he may be falling in his own honeytrap as he takes his seduction further. Because what’s a better way to lure a cannibal than asking him if he wants to eat your ass?OR: Season 2 but with more cannibalism, more murder, more bad puns and thank god, some resolved sexual tension. Also called “the fic that started as a monsterfucking porn then became a crack fic then it grew plot and turned serious.”(Finished; new chapter every monday)
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 72





	1. Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Joy of Creation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4748453) by [FKAHerSweetness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FKAHerSweetness/pseuds/FKAHerSweetness). 



> One day my dear friend [Efimera Catarsis](https://twitter.com/efimeracatarsi) asked me "Angel can you wrote me a little porn between bottom monster Will and top monstefucker Hannibal?" and I said "you know what? ABSOLUTELY YES" so here we are. 
> 
> What started like a little funny porn suddenly became a +45k fanfic. It started as porn, then became crack, now has plot and a little bit of angst and A LOT of feels. Welcome to Swallow my heartbeat, fasten your seatbelts and enjoy the ride.
> 
> Heads up for the warnings at the beggining of each chapter, I tried to cover the biggest things in the tags but still I recommend reading the notes just in case.
> 
> Also I wrote this while obssesed with "The Joy of Creation" that is what I consider the official season 4 until Bryan Fuller says otherwhise. But in no way my fic is close to the masterpiece that is The Joy of Creation.
> 
> Nothing else, enjoy!

Freshly released from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will Graham could do a lot of things. 

For example, he could go home and play with his dogs. That would be the most rational thing normal people would choose to do. 

Or, he could take all of his dogs, sell his house and car, say _'fuck you'_ to Jack Crawford, say _'fuck you’_ to Alana Bloom, and _'fuck you'_ but ‘ _oh no, no no no no, listen very carefully to me, fuck you but_ specially _you’,_ to Hannibal Lecter; and then leave his job, house and everybody behind to have some needed peace somewhere unknown far away from the FBI, crime scenes and The Chesapeake Fucking Ripper. 

He could do that. But he won't. 

But don't get him wrong, that does not mean he didn't want to scream _'fuck you'_ at the top of his lungs at Doctor Hannibal Lecter's perfect face. 

Another thing he could do was grab his gun, walk into Hannibal Lecter's house, wait for him in the shadows and _shoot_. 

He could watch the light fade away from his maroon, blood-like eyes while real blood dripped from his forehead and the bullet perforated that disgusting, methodical and unnervingly manipulative brain, making it come out like a brilliant rain of gory confetti to celebrate Will Graham’s success in cleansing the world. Would Hannibal Lecter show some kind of emotion at that? At having his brain perforated by a bullet? He probably wouldn't, the cheeky (ha! pun intended, got it? ‘cause you know, cheekbones) bastard.

Or – wait, wait. _Wait._

Freddie Lounds. 

Will made a mental note to not forget to shout _'FUCK YOU’_ , in big bold letters, at Freddie Lounds if he ever decided to run away into the sunset. (How does someone shout in big bold letters? It doesn't matter, Will Graham will manage when the time comes.)

That would be cathartic, very cathartic indeed. 

Another mental note: Push the gun against Dr. Lecter's temple and make him write a note before killing him: _Shout out "Fuck You" at Freddie Lounds once a week, to relieve stress. Doctor's orders_. Yes. That's one of your best ideas so far Graham, keep it that way.

But, coming back to the main idea: freshly released from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will Graham could do a lot of things. 

For example, he could enter Hannibal Lecter's house, gun in hand and make Doctor Lecter choke on it. And _then_ shoot. He could watch how the base of Hannibal Lecter's skull fell and crashed against the perfectly clean and spotless kitchen floor. Leaving behind a grotesque painting of gore and viscera sprawled across the perfectly clean and spotless perfect kitchen of the perfect and respected Doctor Hannibal Lecter in which now was a perfect body in a perfectly uncomfortable position, because Will Graham wouldn't make any type of artistry and elaborated crime scene to honour The Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal Lecter didn't deserve Will's effort. He only deserved his anger. 

Yeah, Will Graham could do _that_. But he won't. 

He could do a lot of things. And _probably_ there could be an archive of alternate universes in which his other counterparts of Will Grahams did exactly all the things he wanted to do now but he won't. Maybe one of his counterparts could even do all at once. Who knows how sadistic his counterparts are? Clearly not him, not me, not you. Nobody knows, not at all. 

BUT.

 _This_ Will Graham was walking into Doctor Hannibal Lecter's house, so he _was_ going to do something. 

He had his gun, and it was charged. 

He _was_ going to do something. What was he going to do? He didn't know. Yet. 

Hopefully he would decide when Lecter arrived.

And decide, he did.

  
  


When Hannibal Lecter entered Will Graham was waiting for him, a hand in the perfect and shiny countertop in the middle of the perfectly clean and spotless kitchen. His other hand was holding a butcher's knife. One of Hannibal's knives. Sharp. But Will's eyes were sharper and pinned Lecter in place when both pairs of eyes met. 

They stood in a silence that didn't last nearly enough (at least not for Will standards). Hannibal Lecter didn’t seem to be able to _shut the fuck up_ , not even when his life depended on it. 

"To what do I owe this pleasant surprise, Will?" Doctor Lecter asked with a curious tilt of his head and a perfectly stitched person suit. He didn't try to predict Will Graham. He knew he couldn't. He just left Will to act and react while he observed. And if there was any violence coming from Will Graham, then he would rejoice in it.

But for now, he only observed and his face didn't show a single emotion. 

Well, no. Saying that would be a misunderstanding. It showed one (1) emotion. It showed insufferable levels of curiosity. It had so much it was amazing that his curiosity didn't take a solid form and started dripping and staining the kitchen floor. 

Will hated it. 

He hated Hannibal Lecter, he hated his goddamn curiosity, he hated that that curiosity wasn't thick and red and wasn't staining the perfect kitchen floor. He hated that he was not destroying the perfect kitchen in any way. He hated that he was not destroying perfect Hannibal Lecter in any single way. He hated it. He hated him. So, he reacted and decided to add some seasoning into his plan.

"Fuck you!" Will spat at him as if it was venom inside his mouth and stabbed the knife in his own wrist over the cutting board and Hannibal flinched– and it hurt like hell and Will couldn't suppress the hissing of pain that escaped him; but as the blood came in waves out of him he locked his gaze with Hannibal, and then Will pushed and broke the bone, and _bingo!_ There it was. Hannibal Lecter looked surprised, as if he just saw a man crawling out of a horse's belly. He didn't say _'Will Middlename Graham what the fuck?'_. But he thought about it, and it was more than what Will had expected or even thought he could manage to get, so he took a moment to smile and congratulate himself. 

But only a second, maybe two. There would be time to pat himself on the shoulder later, when he didn't have a handedless arm bleeding in his ex-non-official-psychiatrist-former-friend-turned-notorious-serial-killer's kitchen.

"I'm going to take this," Will said, calmed as if nothing had happened while he wrapped his bleeding wrist with a dishcloth. "Enjoy your dinner Doctor Lecter. Hopefully it will live to your snobby palate." 

And with that, Will Graham left. 

He didn't run into the sunset, but he left behind a hand and a confused cannibal with his eyes wide open trying to understand what the hell just happened. It had been cathartic, very cathartic indeed. 

  
  
  


[x]

Well. It would have been very rude to not eat the dinner Will so kindly and diligently delivered to his table. Hannibal cooked the hand with a reduction of red-wine and rosemary, roast potatoes to the side. He didn't want anything too strong that could trample Will's natural flavour.

And it was delicious. He savoured it slowly, closing his eyes immersing himself on the flavour. He hummed in satisfaction, enjoying the best meal he had ever had. He licked – and ate – Will's fingers clean to the bone. 

The conglomeration of emotions inside of him were confusing, to put it in words. Hannibal Lecter was not a person who was easily engulfed or consumed by feelings, those were always tamed. But, well, you know, it was not easy to tame his feelings anymore now that Will Graham existed. 

One of the emotions was contentment. He felt content indeed, very. It had been a delicious meal that lived to, and surpassed, his expectations and his _snobby_ palate. 

The second emotion was surprise. Seasoned maybe with a little bit of worry on top. He would never say something so vulgar as _'What the fuck'_ but surely he could think of something more elegant, a more _Hannibalesqe_ way to express the same in its place. 

Guilt? Not necessarily, but it could be close guess. Clearly Will Graham was not the most stable person in the country (but he was definitely not the less stable person either, thank you very much). But cutting his own hand? Maybe his time imprisoned at the Baltimore State Hospital had been a little bit too much. But it was also too late to think about it, so guilt was pushed aside. It has been necessary evil that regarded him with the most wonderful of outcomes. (A dinner.)

Third, and final, _curiosity_. Obviously it would be curiosity. As Hannibal sucked the last of tender meat from Will's pinky finger he wondered how his cunning boy was going to explain to the FBI the way he had lost a hand.  
  
  


It turned out that Will didn't need to explain anything. 

  
  


The funny thing was, that a couple of days later when they met again at a crime scene together, Will had both of his hands. Not only that, but he shook Hannibal's hand with a smug smirk and the same hand Hannibal saw him chop, and later, had eaten.

The look of utter shock didn't go unnoticed by Will, who was imaginarily patting himself on the back in congratulations (again) for making Hannibal Lecter's face contour in an expression. This time was more of a confused _"Am I crazy?"_ than a _"Will Graham what the fuck?"_ And Will could picture the interrogation signs floating around Lecter’s head. 

And, honestly, after making Will believe that he was a serial killer unaware of his own serial-killing, Hannibal deserved a little of his own medicine and to be the one who felt that was losing his damn mind.

 _You are doing amazing, Will Graham._ Will Graham told himself.

Hannibal, instead of looking at the crime scene like how a professional working for the FBI should have been doing, was looking at Will Graham (for a change, come on). Why did Jack Crawford ask him to come again? Now that he had his loyal bloodhound back he surely could stop dragging Hannibal into this russian roulette of mostly distasteful crime scenes.

It was a cold winter day, and Will was wearing gloves, so there was no way of knowing if his hand was prosthetic or not. Hannibal wondered if, instead, the hand he ate a week ago wasn't Will's hand but a clever and well put trick.

Still, Hannibal didn't think it was a trick. But he also didn't think either that the hand was prosthetic. It felt real when they shook hands just ten minutes earlier. He felt the bones under his palm as he squeezed Will's hand with a little more force than necessary. Will didn't even flinch at that but smiled, and God had mercy on him, Will Graham _winked_ at Hannibal Lecter while shaking hands – and Hannibal nearly fainted.

Hannibal was looking intensely at nothing but Will Graham (nothing to be surprised about) and Will Graham's hand (that was something new) instead of looking at his a–, for the two and a half hours they were in the middle of _who-the-fuck-knows-where_ with their feet deep in snow and viscera, and long away from any trace of civilization. 

And Will could be acting as if he was doing his job and was immersed in it like the good profesional he was; but in reality he was more focused on feeling the doctor's gaze on him and imaginatively patting himself for a job well done during the whole two hours and thirty minutes that he had been there. 

Honestly, he deserved some recognition after the fact nobody believed him and now he was paying The Chesapeake Ripper with the same bloody coin. 

It was then, when Will needed a closer look onto the body, that he pulled out his leather gloves (and made a good show of doing that so Hannibal could give a good look at _both_ of his hands), before putting the latex ones. 

When he looked up at his ex-psychiatrist, with _both hands_ in latex gloves, Will smiled. 

Mark the calendar everybody, Will Graham was _smiling_ at a crime scene. Not only that, Will Graham was _smiling_ at something that wasn’t a dog. That was not a sight one could say it was seen every day. 

And mark the calendar everybody because Hannibal Lecter looked distraught, confused and, for the love of everything holy, fucking dumbfounded. Will wanted to do a victory dance in the spot. That look of utter shock mutilating the always composed and carefully placed expression looked marvelous on Hannibal Lecter’s face.

Will's hand was made of meat and bones and skin. It was human, and it was _whole_ and there were _two_ of them. And Hannibal (I swear to God that I’m not exaggerating) had to blink. _Twice_. His mouth was slightly parted and open and his brows ricocheted to the sky before he managed to compose himself. 

He composed himself too late, half a second too late. Maybe nobody of the complete fools that he had around (that incredibly worked for the FBI, and _actually_ caught serial killers) had managed to realise the state of shook in which Hannibal Lecter was for two seconds. But Will Graham, obviously the brilliant Will Graham, needed only less than half a second to notice it. 

Smug, smug, smuggy Will, pat yourself on the head, you deserve it. If he had a tail he would surely be wiggling it right now.

Hannibal couldn't look at anything for the rest of the time they were at the crime scene. He couldn’t even listen to anything. He saw Will's lips move and he nodded at what he said; because when on Earth had Will Graham been wrong in a deduction anyway? Agent Crawford didn't seem to mind that Hannibal wasn't paying attention, or maybe he didn't realize it. Hannibal could only hope he was not confessing at any crime as he nodded at a new twist of Will's lips. 

He was hopelessly lost until he recognized the way in which Will's mouth twisted in his, _and only his,_ particular sing-a-song way of mouthing the words 'Doctor Lecter', and Hannibal snapped back to reality.

"You look very lost today, Doctor Lecter." Smug. Come on Graham, keep going, you're killing it. (No pun intended).

"You know, for a moment I thought you weren't paying attention to what I was saying." Will continued when Hannibal didn't answer, and Hannibal wondered _when_ and _why_ Will got so close to him. "For a second I thought you would say ‘yes’ at anything I asked." Will said and he was so pleased with himself.

"I may be a little distracted today, yes," Hannibal had to cough for his voice to not come out hoarse. Will smiled coyly as he flustered his eyelashes, because of course he did. He looked like a cat playing with a canary between his paws.

Except that Hannibal was definitely not a canary. He was more like a crow. Dangerous, elegant, utterly intelligent and fucking _irritating._ And Will made sure to keep that thought at the forefront of his mind. He could play with the crow as much as he wanted, but he needed to keep paying attention to it and sink his teeth on the crow's chest before it could pluck Will's eyes out. 

For Will, it felt good to finally _act_ and not only _react_ around Hannibal Lecter. 

"I’d like to think that you have not taken advantage of my distraction today.” Hannibal said “Would you tell me if I confessed to any of the Chesapeake Ripper's murders unawarely, Will?"

Against all expectations, against all of what anybody would swear that Will Graham would never ever do in his life: Will Graham laughed. 

It was not a whole maniac laugh, it was more like a chuckle, ultra adorable if you asked me (or if you asked Hannibal). The kind of laugh a highschooler would make at the very bad joke their crush told. It came out with a not very loud snort, but loud enough for the people around him that had actually exchanged words at least once with him heard it and made them believe Will had gone absolutely nuts (if there was someone there who still thought that he hadn’t). And it was loud enough to destabilize Hannibal Lecter mentally and to hear Jack Crawford's neck crack for how fast his head snapped at them. 

"No," Will shook his head, still smiling and Hannibal's stomach contorted in weird shapes inside of him. "I mean, no, you didn't confess to anything,” he added while his naked hand, the one that Hannibal was _sure_ he had enjoyed eating a week ago, got lost in the uncontrollable mass of chocolate curls. And then, as an afterthought he added, in a way that sounded dangerously close to flirting, “not that I won't tell you if I took advantage of you."

Hannibal had to take a deep inhale when Will stepped closer and adjusted the lapels (that didn't need adjusting but Will did it anyway just because he could) of Hannibal’s suit jacket as if it was a common occurrence between them. "I would like to not take advantage of you... unless..."

Hannibal had to put all his concentration to remember how to breathe normally when he felt claws, _literal claws_ , tracing against his chest where Will’s hand, _the hand_ , was.

"...unless," Hannibal's pupils blew wide and he was sure he had never felt this breathless before. There wasn't colour in those eyes, there is only darkness and hunger.

Will grinned without looking at him in the eyes, and Hannibal was thankful because when Will said, "Unless you want me to." Hannibal knew that if he had been looking directly at the eyes of that blue-eyed demon, he would have combusted in the spot. 

If Hannibal Lecter had only one ounce less of autocontrol in his body he would have fallen into his knees, diving face straight forward to Will’s feet, when Will stepped back and let go his lapels. Luckily for him, he only felt every single cell on his body scream in agony at the loss of Will's touch. And his knees wobble, of course.

_Smug, smug, smuggy Will. Great job._

Smug Will had Hannibal’s full attention, as usual. And Jack's. And Price and Zeller's. And everybody's attention at the crime scene. 

It was time to show off then. And play his cards right.

"And talking about that. I want to apologize," Will was scratching his poorly trimmed beard with a subtle smile in his face. Not smug as the others, no, this was a shy one. He even looks embarrassed, "For the whole Ripper thing.” He added, “The encephalitis messed with my brain. I'm on my medication now and I can _see_ more clearly."

Will was a great player. Hannibal knew it the moment Will locked eyes with him and there wasn’t a single iota of shame in his face. There he was, the dangerous predator with claws and fangs daring him to do something.

_Ask me. Ask me. Ask me._

Hannibal understood the game. And he was an amazing player too.

"What do you see, William?"

And he was smug Will again, a subtle grin making an apparition when he said, loud enough for the people around them to hear, "That you're not the Ripper, Dr. Lecter." 

Hannibal's eyes flashed with delight, surprise, admiration, confusion. He was sure Will was playing a game, and that he was a player too now. Which were the rules, he didn’t know. Which game was it, he didn’t know either. The only thing Hannibal knew was that Will wasn’t going to tell him the rules, and if he wanted to survive, he had to play, and play well.

"Apologies accepted Will," he said offering his hand for Will to shake. "Are we friends again?"

"Yes, but on one condition" he gleefully said as he extended his hand, but took it away before Hannibal could shake it. "You will have to have me for dinner, some time, again." The flash of realization struck Hannibal directly into his core. A full body shudder shook him and his blood felt like lava, thick and burning every inch of his body when Will grabbed Hannibal's hand again, and gave him a good moment to look at the scar that looped around his wrist like a snake. 

Hannibal had to repress another shudder when he felt claws again, and it was unmistakable now that what he felt were Will's long fingers and sharp nails trying to draw blood from the skin of his hand.

"It will be more than a pleasure, Will. But for the sake of our newly renewed friendship," he said with a controlled tone, and his baritone voice that echoed anywhere, making sure the people around them were listening, even if they were acting as if they were not, "you may bring the meat this time."

Will smiled. 

"It will be my honour." _Smug, smug, smuggy Will, you are the best._

When they parted, after what other people would consider a very akward and long handshake and a lot of eye-fucking, Will's hands looked very much normal, maybe his nails a tad bit longer. What didn't seem quite right was that the back of Hannibal's hand had drops of blood in it. 

Hannibal tried to lift a brow and ask silently, but Will turned around and said "Send me a message when you're free to have me for dinner, Doctor Lecter."

  
  


[xx]

"WHAT IN THE HELL WAS THAT WILL?" Jack was shouting at Will, that was a very common occurrence. This time it was in his office. It was good to be shouted at in private instead in front of people, for a change of scenery. "You were _laughing_ at a crime scene. Do you understand how bad it looked?" 

Will suppressed the need to roll his eyes, but not his need to snap. All bite, no bark. Will had already become a mad dog barking at a serial killer nobody seemed to see. Nobody gave a shit of his warn-barking and he was tired and so fucking done with everybody.

"Do you understand how _good_ it looked for Hannibal Lecter, Jack? Do you want to catch The Ripper or no?"

"Of course I want to! But you can't be this reckless. Do you know how it looked out there?"

"No, clearly I don't fucking know how to do my job or what I'm doing at all. Please Jack, enlighten me."

"It looked like fucking flirting Will!"

Will lifted a brow. Yeah, _that was the fucking plan._

"Of course it looked like flirting, Jack, for God’s sake. Do you have any idea of how many times I catched him staring at my ass during therapy hours? A lot. I lost count after thirty, and that was only the second week of therapy. Of course flirting with him it's the fucking plan."

Jack started tapping incessantly his fingers onto the desk, Will could hear the screws in his brain over the noise of his fingers' furious tap-tapping. "I think it's a bad idea. When you said you were going to gain his trust..."

"What other thing you want me to do to gain his trust, Jack? Kill people?"

"Of course not!" 

"Then this is the plan I have. If you have a better one you should have told me before, because I have a date with The Chesapeake Ripper any time now."

Jack stopped tapping on his desk only to start opening and closing his fist and breathing inexplicably loud. Will rolled his eyes and let himself lay more comfortably on the very uncomfortable chair, leaning his body, crossing his arms and opening his legs. Apparently he was going to stay there for a long time. 

"Alana is dating him." Jack said, "It could be an awkward situation. You were roaming around claiming that her boyfriend was a serial killer and now you’re trying to flirt with him." 

"I like to think that, when Alana finds out that we are having sex, she will break up with him." Will said as a matter-of-fact. "I will be doing her a favour. I prefer to deal with her anger now and her broken heart later, than with more bodies. Don't you?" 

For a moment Jack hesitated, Will seemed surprised at that. He very much expected Jack to shout he cared more about victims than Alana's feelings. He cared more about possible victims than he cared about Will's mental health. Not that Will cared too much about his mental or physical health either to even reproach him about it.

When Jack finally spoke his eyes were focused on Will's with a skeptical frown. "Have sex? You?" Will wanted to disappear from the world. 

"Yes Jack, I may be very anti-social, but even _I_ have sex." Will dropped his head behind his back, letting it rest against the backside of the chair.

"With Hannibal Lecter." He explained slowly, like if he was talking to a child. Not very sure if the one he was explaining the concept was him or Will. Probably both. 

This time Will groaned. Loud. "Yes Jack, if it’s what’s going to take to put him behind bars. Yes."

Jack stayed in silence for a long time, Will wondered if he suddenly had grown horns or if he had something between his teeth, or if the new image of Will Graham having sex with Hannibal Lecter was already haunting Jack’s nightmares.

"Try to delay it the more you can. The sex. We should try to catch him before that happens." 

"Great," Will raised from the chair, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. "I will put all my inexperience in sex, my social awkardness slash anxiety and my fragil masculinity on the table to delay sex with Hannibal Lecter for the sake of your consciousness Jack, don't worry about my ass." Then, he stopped before leaving the office, "The pun was not intended."

"Will," Jack's chastised, but he stopped, taking a deep breath. "Are you sure about it?"

"Are you doubting me Jack?" Will said, closing the door. It seemed that he was not going to his house and get the sleep he needed yet. Not that he believed in the absurd fantasy that he could actually get even a single iota of rest or peace, with the Nightmares™ and now the image of him having sex with doctor Hannibal Serial-Killer Lecter and all that. But at least he wanted his dogs and his bed. Jack sighed. 

"No. I'm not and I won't." He looked like a tired father now, like the kind of ones that wanted to apologize but didn't want to show any weakness, so they didn't apologize at all. Jack didn't apologize, not that Will ever remembered, and Will didn't want him either. Pity was sour. "I just want to know you're sure about all this." Jack's worry was also sour, like milk that has been sitting outside the fridge for months in a mental hospital. “I don’t want you to do something like that just because–”

"I'm a good fisherman Jack." Will cut him off, not sitting with him again. He was leaving now. "I'm sure enough about him and about my skills to use myself as a living bait. Goodnight Jack. Don't call me unless it is strictly necessary." 

"Goodnight Will." 


	2. Stomach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I present you: Nightmares, more cannibalistic sexual innuendos and _feelings_.
> 
> I want to take a moment to thank everybody who left comments and kudos, I'm absolutely soft by the support and reactions the first chapter got and how everybody loved #SmugWill. Thank you!

The stag was sitting in the corner of the room, so big that the antlers disappeared through the ceiling like smog. _That_ should have made Will realize he was having a nightmare. _That_ and that the walls were bleeding. _That_ and that the night was made of eyes and fingers, and nails and teeth, and that Will was made of meat. _That_ and that the walls of his living room were slick now, saliva falling onto his skin from the ceiling. He should have known he was dreaming when he tried to open the door and he only saw black. Ink-black skin and a long, wet and hot tongue and sharp teeth, and white void eyes devouring him. 

Will woke up drenched in sweat. One had to keep a level of normalcy (like Jack's shouting at him and waking up from a nightmare looking like he had been standing under the rain for hours) to contrarest the level of _ab-_ normalcy (like laughing and smiling and having a really good time at a crime scene, and chopping his own hand and flirting with a serial killer) in his life. He wondered if his other Will Graham counterparts across the alternate universes were having as a bad time as he was. 

Probably the other Wills may have it worse. He didn't like to think that he was, in fact, one of the luckiest of them since his life was the tallest rollercoaster in the park; one that didn't seem to stop, that was always nose diving into madness and with screws that were barely holding the frames together. 

But he had chopped his hand a week ago and it had grown again. He probably was one of the luckiest Will Grahams out there in the alternative universes. 

Seeing it grow again was like watching a fetus growing outside the uterus. Having to grow the bones was the thing that hurt the most. Everything else was pretty much tolerable. He was lucky that it hadn't been a crime scene earlier on the week or that would have been a very awkward situation. 

Will didn't want to close his eyes again. The clock over his bedside table was marking the 3:04 am. Great. Just 2 hours of sleep. 

_My name is Will Graham. It's 3:04 am. I slept less than two and a half hours. I'm at my house in Wolf Trap, Virginia. The air smells like copper, my mouth is dry and I'm drenched in sweat, my teeth hurt and I'm so. Fucking. Hungry._

He grabbed the pillow pulling it to his face, silencing a scream. 

He usually wasn't one to eat a lot. But since _that_ day nothing could fill him. Will had been constantly hungry and irritated. He felt like a baby with his teeth starting to grow, and for some reason his teeth really hurt as if they were growing. 

Will looked himself in the bathroom mirror baring his teeth, a finger pressing on his gums. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for his left hand. 

It did _look_ normal, but it didn't _feel_ normal. It itched. Itched in the way your skin itched when you got a very bad sunburn and it's pealing out of your skin. It itched with the need of destroying something, of piercing and sinking his fingernails into anything the same as his traitorous teeth. 

A warm sensation coiled in his gut, remembering how good it felt to squeeze Hannibal's hand with his own, how good it felt to see blood under his fingernails. How good Hannibal's blood _tasted._

Because _of course_ that was the most understandable, rational thing to do. He was at a crime scene. He couldn't have blood in his hands or risk cleaning it in his clothes and walk around Quantico later with stains of blood in his clothes. 

So the most rational thing to do was pull his fingers with Hannibal's warm blood and clean them in his mouth. He had to remind himself where he was at that moment and that Jack Crawford was breathing down his neck to not moan on the spot. 

The reminder of the taste made his stomach growl more insistent. Right, food. 

Will left the bathroom only in his boxers, his wet with sweat t-shirt forgotten on the floor. Will’s teeth ached, at any given moment he was going to buy one of those baby toys for chewing. 

There was nothing in his fridge. Nothing that he wanted to eat at least. Fruits, vegetables, sure. He also had cereal. But his eyes kept focusing on the only piece of meat he had in the fridge. 

It was for the dogs, but _damn_ he was hungry. 

Will gave the clock an annoyed look. 3:29 am. Then he looked at the dogs sleeping. It was too late to cook and the smell would wake them up and he would have to share it with them. And his stomach was growling again so loud it was unbelievable the dogs hadn't woken up. There was only one thing he could do.

 _‘It is too late to cook’_ Will reminded himself as he grabbed the container with beef. _It is too late to cook_ , he reassured himself as he opened the lid and the smell made his mouth water. _Only a few bites,_ he said to himself, _raw meat is not good for the body._

The first bite made him moan. The taste, the texture, the sensation, the _relief_ of sinking his teeth. It was overwhelming. His stomach growled again and the sound rumbling inside his body came out of his mouth in an obscene whine. 

Swallowing made him see stars, touch Heaven with his bare hands. The second bite made his eyes shine with tears of joy. Will’s mind went blank; he curved his spine down, chasing the taste of meat, devouring it bite by bite, kneeling in front of the fridge. He was naked except for his boxers, making it difficult to know if the goosebumps that bathed his skin were because of the chill or because of the pleasure. The artificial light of the fridge in the middle of the dark room painted a morbid, ghastly scene, accentuating the pale of his skin, the shadows of his bones and how miserable he felt inside. 

Will tried to stop himself, the little spot of conscious mind that still was trying to hold into reality rioted inside him; but his tongue was out of his mouth, unstoppable as he licked his hands. Visceral and wild, and so desperate he pursued the rest of the meat’s flavour that was still clinging to his skin. 

Will panted while resting his forehead to the floor. The tears of joy he had after the first swallow now burn like acid.

It was shameful. Sickening. Repulsive and it made no sense. 

But his animal brain didn’t care about sense. The piercing pain of his teeth was reduced to a mildly, tolerable ache. His stomach settled even if he didn’t feel truly filled. His tongue still moved by its own will, chasing the last crumbs of taste from his lips. The taste was not even close to the extravagant and delicious dinners at Hannibal’s house. It hadn’t been the same as Hannibal's obscenely delicious blood. But it was enough. 

The stag sitting in the corner of the room sighed in sympathy. Will tried to ignore the pleased and proud eyes of the wendigo watching him from the shadows outside his home.

Will, at least, managed to sleep again.

  
  
  


[x]

**[14:11]**

**Good evening Will, do you think you would be amenable to join me for dinner on Thursday evening? - H.**

Will fidgeted with his phone. Of course he was amenable. The only thing he had now were his work and his dogs. He had no social life, his only friend, _(thanks Hannibal Lecter),_ was dead. And Alana Bloom, the only other person with whom he could hang out, believed he was crazy _(Thanks Hannibal, again)._ Of course he was free on Thursday.

**[14:12]**

**If jack and serial killers decide to forget about my existence for one night, yeah, sure**

The reply came instantly. 

**[14:12]**

**Hopefully, but I find you're not someone easy to forget about, Will.**

Oh right, they were flirting. Will had started it. But he didn't think Hannibal was going to flirt _back._ At least not so soon, and especially not by text. If he ever thought about courting Hannibal Lecter (thing that he swore he did _not._ Never. Not once. Not at all*) (*Liar) he would have expected complex love letters, no texts. Or that was before his incarcelation. Now he thought about grotesque crime scenes and body cavities filled with roses. 

"Shit."

Okay, Will had started it, now he needed to keep playing.

**[14:13]**

**Have you been thinking about me, dr. Lecter?**

Will discarded the idea of sending a winky face. But he was tempted. 

**[14:15]**

**I find it's very difficult to point to a moment in which you haven't been wandering around my mind, not since I met you. But if you ask me if I have been thinking about you lately, the answer is yes. I've been thinking about you very ardently.**

_Ardently._

Oh shit. 

_Ohshitohshitohshit._ Maybe Will was not as mentally prepared to have sex with the Chesapeake Ripper as he thought he was. Not if he was so close to have a meltdown just now from the idea of Hannibal Lecter _sexting._ Dr. Hannibal Ridiculously-Proper Lecter and Sexting, should have never ever be put together in the same sentence. 

Will gulped. Loudly. When did his hands got so wet? Oh shit, he was also trembling. _Get your shit together Graham, sexting is literally the easiest, not-dangerous, way to catch a serial killer. Come on._

**[14:16]**

**What have you been thinking so ardently about me exactly, Hannibal?**

His thumb stopped just before sending the message. _Hannibal._ Will re-read it at least sixteen times in the time it took him to breathe. _'Hannibal'_ would be more suitable if they were doing _this._ He couldn't call him _'Doctor Lecter'_ if he was trying to get more intimate (unless maybe Hannibal was into that. He probably was. But Hannibal Lecter’s kinks were not something Will wanted to be thinking about just now). Will closed his eyes, trying to keep his courage inside him as if it could escape from his irises, and he hit _send_ before he could convince himself not to. 

Then he let the air inside his lungs go. It was done. It was happening. Will Graham was officially sexting with his ex-not-official-psychiatrist-former-friend-now-turned-notorious-serial-killer.

_Breathe Graham, fucking breathe._

**[14:18]**

**I've been thinking about your promise of bringing the meat. To be honest, I was pleasantly surprised at how eager you looked to sit at my table again. I must admit, I'm equally eager to have you for dinner, and more eager to taste anything you decide to give me.**

Ha. Ha. Haha. Meat. Of course, the meat. _That_ meat. The meaty meat. Will laughed. Of course Hannibal Lecter wasn't sexting. He wanted _the meat_.

Wait. 

Wait a fucking second right there.

Was that a fucking sexual innuendo? Did HANNIBAL MOTHERFUKER LECTER just use a sexual-slash-cannibal innuendo about eating Will's coc– 

BREATHE GRAHAM, BREATHE. DON'T CHOKE ON– ok bad choice of words. Just, just breathe.

Okay. It was confirmed. Will wasn't as ready to have sex with the Chesapeake Ripper as he thought he was.

Will cursed himself. Chopping his hand at Hannibal's kitchen had been a rushed decision. He knew his hand was going to grow back. He knew it since he lost his finger when he was 8 years old. He knew it since a man stabbed him on the shoulder and the scar formed in only a couple of hours. He always knew it. He hadn't told anybody. Not even Jack. But there he was, chopping his hand on Hannibal Lecter's kitchen to give Hannibal Lecter a snack.

Why? If only he knew why.

It had been a spontaneous decision, he hadn't given it too much of a thought. It had been less of an improvised decision than screaming _'fuck you_ ' at Hannibal as he chopped it. But it still had been spontaneous. He hadn't thought of what to do next. And even if he had thought about it, sexting with his ex-psychiatrist wouldn't be something that he had seen coming from it. 

Another text came through. 

Will looked at the phone as if it had offended him personally. Or maybe he was looking at his own reflection who did, matter of fact, offended him personally. 

**[14:20]**

**Would you be so kind to let me know what kind of cut you’re considering to bring? I would be very grateful so I could plan the menu accordingly.**

Should Will tell him "my cock"? Or would it be too rushed? He had no doubt that Hannibal was going to be absolutely pleased with the idea. Probably he would be against the way Will expressed it, but not against eating Will's dick. He surely must know a couple of recipes about how to cook dicks.

Will looked between his legs then. He didn’t feel as if he could chop his dick premeditatedly. Maybe he could bring fish. He hadn't expressly said that the meat was going to be his own flesh. 

Chopping his hand hadn't been _that_ bad. But growing out the bones had hurt. Maybe a piece of meat that didn't include bones would be nice. His thoughts were flowing again to his d– No. No dick for dinner. Will wasn't going to eat his own cock. 

Will could buy something from the butcher, Hannibal didn't need to know. Would that be considered rude?

What was going to be rude was to let Lecter wait too much more for an answer. His rushed decisions had brought him to this. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea to keep making them. Or maybe it could be the best idea. Only one way to know. 

Breathe, write, exhale and send it. Don't read it again Graham.

**[14:23]**

**I don't know yet. I would prefer a part without bones that wouldn't draw too much attention. Any ideas?**

Sent. 

Exhale. Breathe. 

**[14:23]**

**I have a proposition.**

Breathe, exhale, breathe, exhale, breathe, _how the fuck do I do to exhale again?_

**[14:24]**

**Why don't you come at 5 pm instead of 7 pm, and we can discuss it together? I can help you, if you want.**

Breathe, exhale, breathe, write, exhale, send, breathe, exh–

**[14:24]**

**that sounds nice. see you on thursday at 5 then, Hannibal.**

In his house, Hannibal smiled.

**[14:24]**

**See you then, Will.**

Will collapsed on his bed, groaning. He hated everything. And he was hungry.

He grabbed his phone and wrote a message to Jack. 

**[14:27]**

**Dinner night. Thursday at 7. Try to not drag me to a crime scene.**

Let the game begin.

  
  


[x]

Oh great. Another nightmare.

Usually, Will dreamed about any case he was working on at the moment, about any killer that was stopping by his brain to have a tea-party where the tea was made of blood and the cookies were probably made with viscera (and one time with fungi, ugh). Will had been working on two different cases this week with Jack but none of those killers made any kind of appearance in his nightmare. His mind was inhabited by the Chesapeake Ripper, and The Ripper was making sure that any other unworthy killer wouldn't step on _his_ sanctuary. The wendigo would kill anyone who dared to enter his domain.

He stared at Will with that blank and hollow expression, skin black as ink kneeling in front of him. It was the first time in which the wendigo was this close to him, close enough to touch. Will’s hand, _the hand,_ trembled, raising itself as if it had free will from Will’s mind and body. His hand felt magnetically attracted to the apparition in front of him, such as the light feels attracted to a black hole. 

Not even in his knees the beast looked less threatening, not less glorious. The whole body, skeletal as it was – screamed submission, it’s eyes shone with pure fascination. It made Will’s spine grow heavier, filling his limbs with sand. A warm but uncomfortable feeling curled inside his belly as he was sucked to the center of a black hole when his fingertips reached the open lips.

The dark felt velvety and wet, cavernous and obscene. Will was falling but still on his feet while the universe around him expanded and all his bones were growing from inside of him. His ribs were tearing the skin, coming out of his chest and growing like the antlers that impaled Marissa Schurr, Cassie Boyle and so many other girls and now were impaling _him_. 

His own bones kept stretching, his blood coming out black instead of red and his fingers slipped into the wendigo’s mouth and throat; they were still growing and getting deeper and–

“Bite” Will ordered and something shattered far away, the earth under them trembled.

The wendigo kept sucking but it was smiling, with his mouth full of Will’s fingers and impossible sharp and inhumanly white teeth. A smile that kept widening out of it’s own face and teeth that keep appearing, row of teeth below row of teeth like a shark, inside his mouth and around Will– 

“Bite” Will repeated as he felt the sharp, electric drag of teeth that left a lingering sensation of thrill. “I said, _bite._ ” He ordered again and pushed the fingers deeper and there was a gagging sound followed by the crack of his bones and the blood – there was so much blood, blood everywhere and pain and blood and pain and broken bones and exposed flesh and blood, _blood, blood_ and pain and blood and pleasure and pa–

And Will woke up wrecked, in need of a shower, drenched in sweat and cum from the most repugnant, revoltingly pornographic nightmare and best orgasm of his life. 

(Best orgasm of his life _so far._ But don’t tell him I wrote that. Let him discover it by himself)

  
  
  


[x]

"Do you hate me?" Will’s own voice sounded eerie in the echo of the bathroom. 

Behind him and sitting on top of the toilet, Beverly lifted a brow. He could barely see her (or more like he was barely trying to see her) behind him in the mirror. 

"Why would I hate you?" She asked. Will focused on the scissors in his hand instead of her. 

"I killed you." He said as he cut another lock of curls.

Beverly had always a humor very difficult to spoil, but Will was really picking on her nerves. Sighing, she rose from the toilet and walked towards Will. First a quarter of her body, then another quarter, then another, and then another as her pieces peeled thin in the air in some delayed kafkian lsd-induce illusion. 

"You didn't kill me. Dr. Lecter did." She said when all the parts of her body reunited, stopping just at his right, her back leaning against the wall and looking at Will fight with his reflection in the mirror. 

"I sent you to his house. It very much counts as if I sent you to die." The scissors made a low _clank_ against the sink. "And now I'm here cutting my hair to look pretty for my date with your killer while your ghost haunts me." He said holding himself to the rim of the sink, dropping his head low, "I'm sorry, Bev."

"Stop it Graham. Come on, let me see your happy face." Will rolled his head towards her with the same grim expression he gave his students when he was absolutely done with their shit. A bitter sensation of deja vu coiled inside him looking at her smile. Beverly patted him in the shoulder lightly and it even felt as if she was there, "See? I knew there was a pretty face behind all that unwashed hair and awful mood."

"Now," she said, giving him the scissors back, "you need to do something with your beard man. And you'll have to wear something nice, something that says _‘We've could have been having sex right now, but you killed my best friend.’_ Something between ‘ _I’d fuck you but you know what? Fuck you.’_ ”

Will managed a smile before he sighed and returned to work on his curls. The air was thick and cold when Will closed his eyes. He still couldn’t stop himself from fidgeting with the scissors.

“I miss you.” 

Beverly didn’t move, neither she seemed surprised. She looked more like she was smelling bullshit. 

“I know.” 

Will cringed at the sound of her voice. Her tone betrayed nothing and it was worse than hearing her shout. It was always worse to hear disappointment than to hear anger. Will swallowed a lump of bitterness and guilt before speaking again, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing, Will? Tell me and be honest.” She snarled at him, “Because you didn’t kill me, you told me to keep an eye open. It was my decision to go to Doctor Lecter’s house. So, why exactly are you apologizing for?” Beverly always had a humor difficult to spoil. But Will always had the talent to easily spoil the humor of any person in a matter of seconds. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. 

Beverly didn’t sound angry or hurt or pitiful when she asked “Do you still consider him a friend?” But she did sound sad.

“I don’t. I try not to.” Will answered. He wanted to grab Beverly’s hand, look her in the eyes, tell her he was really sorry because he didn’t want to feel like this. He sighed, “Sometimes I find myself wishing to forgive him. Sometimes, I find myself wishing to be his friend again.” 

Will wanted her to scream, to shout, to be mad at him. Her silence only made him feel worse.

“Look, I know you want me to get mad and let you drown in your self-righteous guilty trip. But I won’t.” She finally said, trying to sound cheerful, but it only came out as sour. “I understand why. I mean, no, I don’t understand. But I get it. He is the only person that sees you, that treated you like a person and not a tool and really wanted to be your friend and all that shit.” 

“The only person left.” He stopped her, finally looking at her. A sour smile made a home in his face, “you were genuinely trying to be my friend. You were, are, my friend.” The bathroom wasn’t exactly big, but it had enough space for Will to lean on the same wall as Beverly. She wasn’t really there, but it was enough. 

They stood in silence for a long moment, with Will breathing and Beverly forcing herself to bite a pitiful sound. 

“I’m so fucking pissed with you. Like, really pissed off.” Beverly squeezed her eyes shut, pinching them with the index finger and thumb, trying to stop herself before she let any tear drop. “I’m really pissed that I am dead. I’m pissed with him because he killed me, and I’m pissed with you because you’re such an idiot.” He could feel the punch in his arm even if it wasn’t real. Then Beverly breathed again, inhaling deep not trying to hide her red eyes. 

“But I’m dead Will, and being mad at you won’t solve that. It will only give you what you want. If you want to fall into a spiral of guilt and pity about yourself and your complex relationship with him, go ahead, but don’t use me as a tool to do it. Understood?”

Will stayed in silence for too many seconds and Beverly pushed him with her shoulder. “I said: Understood, Graham?” 

He rolled his head but smiled.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“Good,” Beverly smiled, her good humor slowly coming back. “I’m rooting for you Will, you know?”

"Rooting for me to catch the Chesapeake Ripper?" Will asked, now more at ease. It was good to have Beverly again with him, even if it was like this. 

"Rooting for you to get laid." 

Maybe he spoke too soon. He looked at the sink again, wondering if he could stab himself to death with hair scissors or would he regenerate too fast to accomplish it. "And I'm a hallucination from your mind rooting for you to get laid. That should be telling you something about what your body is asking you man."

"Are you sure you are a hallucination? You feel more like a ghost haunting me."

"I'm not a ghost haunting you, if I were I would have been slamming doors with your bedsheets over my head and pulling your legs while you sleep. I'm an hallucination telling you stop blaming yourself and get some good sex."

"With a serial killer." He said rolling his eyes and sighing. Beverly smiled again, wider, making her eyes creased at the corners. She always liked more when Will was a sassy chaos with curls than an angsty chaos with curls. And really, he needed to do something with that hair. Who would think that all that was needed to make him grab a comb was a date with a serial killer.

She shrugged, smiling like a fox, "Hey, if the date goes bad you can always turn him in and avoid having to call him in the morning." 

"No, you're not a ghost or a hallucination, you're a nightmare." There was no bite in his statement, only friendly teasing and an affectionate smile. It was good to have, at least, a little bit of her.

“Now, now, come on pretty boy. It’s time for you to put into your disney prince clothes. You have a serial killer to catch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was short and not as humorous as the previous chapter, I know, BUT DON'T FRET MY DUDES, do you know what chapter is next? THE PORN CHAPTER. AND IT'S FILLED WITH FILTH AND BAD CANNIBAL/SEX PUNS, AND SMUG WILL COMES AGAIN. AND, since the first chapter got so much love I decided to publish the porn chapter tomorrow. See you all in 24hs.
> 
> (*Comes again: yes. The pun was intended)


	3. Hypothalamic–pituitary–adrenal axis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE BACK ON TRACK BITCHES, LETS FUCKING GOOOOO

"Hello Will, co–" Hannibal stopped in his tracks looking at Will's back, carefully positioned at his door. He was a vision to behold, a cherub painted by Caravaggio, with his curly hair tamed and beautifully arranged, trimmed beard revealing the milky skin underneath and his blue eyes shining with malevolence as he turned around, clearly aware of how dangerous he looked.

"Hello  _ Hannibal _ ." Will enjoyed the nearly imperceptible shiver that traveled Hannibal's body. He let the doctor savour the way in which his voice sang the name and the way his tongue and lips danced around the syllables. "May I come in?"

"Yes Will, please." Hannibal moved aside to open the path for him, his knuckles going white holding onto the doorknob; Will hadn't stepped inside yet and already made a show of himself. Entering he brushed himself slightly against Hannibal, so the doctor could feel the heat emanating from his body, (now less perceptible as the fever and encephalitis got under control. _ No thanks this time, Hannibal Lecter) _ and the atrocious aftershave that Will had decided to use just because he was _ that _ petty. 

"Would you mind helping me with my coat please?" Will said, a picture of false innocence, not trying to hide his sharp teeth and his grin, "I'm afraid that my wrist still feels a little compromised from last week." 

“Of course,” Hannibal closed the door in slow motion, as if he had forgotten how to do simple tasks or as if he could faint if he moved too fast. And in the same slow pass, he rested his hands on top of Will's shoulders. “Allow me.”

He took Will's coat from behind, revealing the salmon shirt underneath that so beautifully enhanced his skin. His hands traced Will's body with reverence, the tips of Hannibal's fingers taking more time than the necessary, touching and holding onto his body, not less reverently and not less carefully; as if with only one wrong touch or slide of his finger he could cut himself with Will. Will’s body as sharp as his eyes, as his venomous words, as his mind of mirror shards. Hannibal allowed himself a fast look down at him, to the flesh that was tucked so close to him, and the gorgeous sight that Will so kindly offered him. Slowly, Hannibal hung up Will's jacket in a vane attempt to control his hands from squeezing and caressing and biting and penet–

"So," Hannibal prompted, making his hands stay still and crossed behind his back, "your hand?"

Will offered his hand in the same way a damsel would offer hers to be kissed. "My hand," he said and Hannibal fought the urge to kiss it and the whole arm too. Instead he drew it close to himself for further inspection. 

A pale scar of healed skin made a perfectly aesthetic loop where Will had chopped it. 

"What are you exactly Will? If you don't mind me asking." 

Will considered it for a moment, "Do you care Doctor Lecter? Does it really matter?" 

Hannibal caressed gently the scar with his thumb before placing his other hand over the wrist. "No, I suppose I don't. But I think it would be good to know the limits of your..." he considered for a moment. Will Graham with his wonderful mind and gorgeous body put by God into his path, "...gift." 

A gift for him indeed. Maybe God was a sadist after all, and was far too pleased with Hannibal’s trail of bodies if he decided to put Will Graham in his life.

"If there is a limit I haven't found it yet. Whatever you decide to chop will grow again." Will dismissed it with a wave of his less compromised hand, while he walked towards the study like if he owned the house and Hannibal were the visitor. 

As someone who had never found particularly appealing the idea of another person controlling his life, Hannibal could not deny there was a distinct pleasure to be found in the way Will walked into Hannibal's home like he owned it. Will's confidence and self-assurance suited him beautifully.

"Why Doctor Lecter? Wasn't my mind enough? Haven't you rummaged through it enough? Now you want to pick on my body?" 

Hannibal followed Will from behind, fully aware of the venom drooling in Will's words, but his eyes were sharp focused slightly on his lower back and just  _ slightly _ below. 

"I thought that was the reason we arranged you to come early, so we could decide together what to pick from your body." 

"And have you decided what you want from my body, Doctor Lecter?" Will turned around, not surprised to discover Hannibal’s eyes snapping fast to his face from a compromising sightseeing.

Hannibal inhaled deeply, making his chest rise, aware of being discovered in his examination, "I had... ideas, before you came, taking in consideration what you asked: no bones and easy to hide. But I think you already decided for us."

Will humed, raising his brow and walking forward. Feign innocence was blatantly rude at this point, and Will knew he was the only one that had free reign to be rude at Hannibal Lecter’s home. "have I?" 

"Haven't you?" Hannibal shot back. Then, feeling bolder and wanting to regain some sort of common ground, (no matter how he enjoyed this new facade of Will Graham, blatant and manipulative), he added "You are making quite a display of yourself, William.”

"Oh?" Will grinned, walking, or could be described more like prowling, towards the doctor. "Am I?"

Hannibal let Will place his hands at his chest before answering with the most slight tilt of his lips and placing his own hands at Will's hips. "Aren't you?"

Before Will could answer Hannibal turned him around and away from him, snapping them from the bubble of sexual tension that he was aware Will deliberately was trying to create. "Maybe a piece of thighs would do. Not too much, and later on we can see how the scaring progresses during the week." And, just for the mere pleasure of destabilizing Will (and his own pleasure), Hannibal added "I have everything we need in the kitchen," while he punctuated it with a fast, sharp slap on Will's ass. 

Hannibal smiled like a contented Cheshire cat as Will's skin turned hot pink from the top of his ears to his chest.

[x]

"I would suggest that you took off your pants." 

Will wandered around the kitchen, blatantly ignoring Hannibal’s suggestion. Meanwhile, ignoring Will’s attempt at ignoring him, Hannibal retrieved a first aid kit and placed it open on the same countertop in which Will left his bloody hand last week. 

"Would you prefer to stay standing for this, or would you like to lay on the floor? Or a bed if you want. I have enough plastic sheets." And as a matter of fact, Hannibal had, and those were meticulously folded on the countertop alongside the first aid kit. 

"Just here, and standing would be enough." 

"Very well. Take off your clothes then." Hannibal said, his lips curling just on the edge of a smirk, "We wouldn't want them to get dirty.” 

Will wondered that, maybe, even if he was not fully prepared to have sex with him, he could kiss Hannibal Lecter if that meant that he could bite the cannibal's tongue and rip it off. Maybe that way he could make Hannibal shut up for once.

But, as he unzipped his pants and left them over the kitchen counter top, Will decided against it. Not because he didn't want to rip Hannibal’s tongue off, but because Hannibal (no matter how brickwall-like his face was in terms of expressions) still managed to look absolutely and insufferably smug when he wanted to. So, even if he didn't have his tongue he wouldn’t shut up his expressions and his voice would still torment Will inside his head. 

Better would be to just chop Hannibal’s head entirely. Or throw him to rot in jail. Both options sounded pretty well.

Finally, with Will dressed only in his boxers and shirt, standing on top of a plastic sheet placed on the floor, Hannibal dragged a chair at the side.

"I'm going to inject you with a dose of anesthetics. I noticed that it hadn't hurt you as much as it would have hurt a human body, but I still would like to spare you unnecessary pain." With the needle prepared, Hannibal added in a smile with too much teeth, "Would you be so kind to turn around and show me your back, Will?"

Will obliged, resting his elbows over the kitchen island. "How much are you going to take?" he asked and flinched as he felt Hannibal's hand resting on his asscheek while dragging down the waistband of his boxer, letting it rest underneath the round cheeks and revealing the skin without freeing his partially interested, traitorous cock. 

"Just a couple of slices. Nothing that will be hard to bandage and hide, or that the healing process will difficult your ability to walk, stand or sit." He spoke clinically as he pierced the skin. Will flinched again at the feeling of the needle and heavy liquid entering his blood system. 

Hannibal had already pulled off the needle without his hand leaving its place when Will asked "Only that Doctor Lecter? Isn’t it too little? My flesh is infinite, I thought you would be making a fest of myself."

"On the contrary," he answered, placing the needle over the counter and freeing Will from his hand. "I have already been blessed with your flesh once. I thought I would never have the pleasure again"  _ not willingly delivered at least _ , Will thought and the same line of thinking echoed in Hannibal's mind. 

"You're saying that you had enough and you're just a glutton?" Will corked his head to the side, looking at Hannibal over his shoulder. 

"I'm afraid I don't think I could ever have enough of you Will." Hannibal's eyes were not on his, but on his body, savouring the sight and the way Will was so willingly sprawled for him. No matter what he said, he was making a fest of Will. "Why the sudden concern? Would you like me to take more?" 

Will didn't need to see Hannibal to know he was smiling.

"Not necessarily. Just thought that you were going to take a piece of my ass since you can't seem to stop looking at it." He tried to make a snarky remark. Will thought he was doing something when he said it. It really had felt like a good idea in his mind. But it backfired spectacularly, and he only realised it when he felt Hannibal's hands under his asscheeks, cupping and weighting them and making Will’s skeleton jump inside his skin.

Hannibal hummed appreciatively as he made them bounce, "The idea crossed my mind, yes. And yes, you were making quite a display of your ass Will, it had been very difficult to avoid looking at it." Hearing Hannibal say  _ ass _ shouldn't make his stomach twist like  _ that _ . 

Fuck. No Graham, no. This is not an erotic situation. 

"But I wouldn't think you really want to eat it. And I would never want you to do something you don't want, dear Will." Will huffled, because of course he had wanted to vomit an ear in his sink. He had expressly said it last year at the FBI Christmas Party. How sweet of Hannibal Lecter to remember it and make his dream come true.

"Why do you ask? Tell me, Will..."  _ Great _ , now he could hear Hannibal smile behind him with his perfectly infuriating psychiatrist voice. "Do you want me to take a piece of your ass? Do you want me to eat it?"

_ Fuck. _ Will cursed under his breath. Hannibal's voice had no right to sound so inherently filthy or to make him feel  _ things _ on his gut. Much less Hannibal had the right to grab his ass the way he was doing now, his warm and big hands sprawled across his cheeks, caressing them so skilfully and gently. 

_ Fuck, _ it shouldn't feel good.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Will snarled, a rebel curl following the fast snap of his head and falling just over his eye from its previously arranged place.

"Just making sure the blood moves. This way the anesthetics will spread evenly and faster." He said with his most clinical voice, without even making eye contact with Will. His eyes were, of course and to nobody’s surprise, hopelessly locked into Will’s ass. Not that we could blame him. 

"Really? Only because you're such a thoughtful doctor and not to enjoy yourself?" Will tried to bitch and growl and bite with his words but his voice came breathless and that didn't help him into bitching but more like into sounding like a b–

"No Will, I’m not doing this for pleasure." He chastised as if he wasn’t enjoying himself way too much and wasn’t enjoying the way in which Will's cheeks obediently followed the path and rhythm of his hands; massaging it, opening it. He smiled when his thumb caressed too close to Will's ass creek and the profiler couldn't stop the delightful sound that escaped from his mouth. Way too satisfied, Hannibal added, "Not mine, at least."

Will should have said something. Really, he should have. He wanted to. And he would say something as soon as he was sure that when he opened his mouth there were going to be words coming out of it and not more embarrassing sounds.

"Don't get distracted Will." Hannibal said without even trying to hide how he was delighting in making Will squirm. "Tell me if the anesthetics are working." 

How the fuck was Will going to tell if the anesthetics were working when he felt like he was a human living wire and like he was burning and Hannibal's touch was warm and _ everywhere.  _

"Will," Hannibal clicked his tongue, chastising again when Will didn't answer. Will knew he was lifting a brow even if he had his eyes closed. "Tell me Will, do you feel this?"

_ Yes. I feel fucking everything. _ Will wanted to say, but he didn't because he didn't trust that he could even manage the simplest syllable without making a fool of himself when Hannibal's hands were on him and –

_ oh God _

"Does this hurt Will?" Hannibal was sinking his nails on Will's ass and it hurt so beautifully even if he could recognize the dull feeling of the anesthetic increasing. 

Will breathed, fingers pressing at the side of the countertop, trying to hold himself, "Barely" he said and Hannibal hummed and kept caressing unashamedly and without any iota of decorum for a couple more minutes. 

Finally Hannibal left his ass in peace to grab the scalpel and Will hated him.

Will hated him because his headaches had been the most insufferable since the last crime scene, worse than ever with his fucking teeth hurting like hell and these five minutes of Hannibal's hand on him had finally made his head to shut off and float into nothingless. 

Will hated him because he had been feeling so fucking hungry all week; and he thought he had never feel more hungry but now he was starving. Will felt absolutely empty and cold without Hannibal's touch. And Will hated himself because of the incredible, brilliant idea he had that day chopping his hand and that now had he trapped in this humiliating situation of himself arching his back pleading for the contact to come back. And he hated himself because he was wishing he had asked to be cut on Hannibal's bed so at least he could be grinding his hard, achingly rock hard and wet cock against something; and Will hated that his autocontrol had decided to yeet itself out of his mind and he hated himself because he had let a fucking  _ whimper _ escape from his throat. And he fucking hated Hannibal Lecter.

"I'm going to start cutting you up now Will, please try to hold still." Hannibal said, placing his hands on Will's hips to hold him in place and Will moaned so deliciously at the contact. 

The first cut was superficial, on the side of Will's thigh. Hannibal looked at the drops of blood falling, tracing threads of shiny crimson against Will's snowwhite skin. But what catched Hannibal's attention was the cut itself: how it took mere seconds for it to stop bleeding and just a couple more seconds to close. It was not perfectly healed, it had a nearly transparent scar that could pass unaware if one didn't know it was there, and that,  _ that  _ made Hannibal finally groan.

"Beautiful" Hannibal moaned, devotedly kissing the scar. He was going to cut and eat and mark Will Graham, "Gorgeous" he murmured, drinking the spilled blood and cleaning every drop with his tongue.

He wanted to bite the tender flesh of Will Graham, to sink his teeth in it and bite and tear the meat from the bone. He wanted to eat him raw and cover himself in Will's blood again and again and again– and the idea of  _ sharing  _ Will’s flesh with him made him fall on his knees behind Will, holding his legs and tracing them with his tongue, savoring and losing himself in them. He wanted to devour Will Graham completely and fill him in return. He wanted to feast from him, to eat him alive and make Will eat himself with him.

_ " Hannibal _ _"_ Will moaned, collapsing over the kitchen counter, his legs going weak, ready to fall at any given moment. 

"You haven't answered me yet, gorgeous boy," He said, grabbing a handful of Will’s ass with force, marking it with his nails, white half-moons sprawled across reddened skin. 

Will opened one eye with difficulty, his breath was heated and his skin pink flushed. Will wanted to ask what he should be answering, his mind too far gone and he was hardly able to follow anything over the thick smog of arousal.

"Do you–" Hannibal said, giving a tentative lick over the curve of Will's cheek, "want me–" then, he pressed a gentle, open mouth kiss, barely caressing the skin with his teeth "to eat you?" Hannibal's eyes shone with mischief when they met Will's – that were equally shining but with raw, desperate need. 

Will wanted to fight. He didn't want to give in so easily. He should make Hannibal work harder for it. He knew he should fight more. He knew that he needed to fight because the moment he gave in he couldn't muster the will to fight again. 

Then, Hannibal's hand collapsed in a sharp slap that (thanks to the anesthetics) didn’t make his ass burn. But it did echo in the kitchen and inside Will’s brain and it was so painfully erotic in a way it shouldn’t be.

"Answer me Will, I haven't eaten your tongue yet."  _ Yet _ . Images flashed behind Will's eyes of Hannibal's mouth on his; rogue and with far more teeth than lips and the taste of copper flushed, drowning him. And the idea of seeing his tongue being ripped from his mouth just to watch it on Hannibal Lecter's bleeding mouth was so arousing and hot and sinfully divine that it threw every single will to fight out from Will's mind.

" _ Yes _ . Fuck, Hannibal, yes."

"Gladly."

Will was far past any type of shame or self-awareness when Hannibal opened his cheeks and licked at his hole. Hannibal's tongue was wet and hot and he ate his pulsing hole like a famished man being brought a fish for the first time in his life.

Will was absolutely glad that his heart was loudly bumping inside his chest and the blood was rushing fast in his ears; he was thankful for the blasting sound of his blood and heart because if Hannibal and his devilish tongue didn't kill him from a cardiac arrest surely knowing the kind of desperate sounds he was making would have done it. 

Suddenly, Hannibal’s tongue slipped inside of him and Will wished he had told Hannibal to do this in a bed because his dick was literally dripping pre-cum everywhere like he had been on edge for an eternity and he desperately  _ needed _ to rut himself against something, anything at all.

When Hannibal grabbed his cock and stroked it, Will's mind went white. He was so drenched in sweat he could as well be having a nightmare and now Hannibal's hand was  _ moving _ .

For a moment (in one of the spontaneous and short moments in which Will recovered the ability to make a coherent thought) he wondered if Hannibal could read minds because there was no way in which he could touch Will so skilfully just because, and not because of some supernatural explanation.

Another stroke of his loose fist and Hannibal could as well be ripping Will's thoughts out of his mind and throwing them out of the window with his hands.

_ No, wait. _

He was Hannibal Lecter,  _ of course _ he was going to rimm Will out of his mind. He didn't need a supernatural explanation to make Will's eyes roll behind his skull and moan so desperately and feel like he had never been touched before in his life. Hannibal was the devil of gluttony dressed as a man,  _ of course _ he was going to make Will Graham squirm into unconsciousness only with his tongue.

_ Oh _ , but there was another stroke and the floor around him melted, and Will felt a wave of pleasure cascading down his spine. Another painfully slow – and not tight enough stroke, and Will forgot every single word of the english language except for  _ fuck _ and  _ Hanninal _ and  _ more. _

Another stroke and Will was so fucking close.

Another stroke and his blood felt thick and hot and heavy inside him, like molten lava and it was all conglomerating in his gut. Hannibal's tongue slipping deeper now inside of him and Will was a volcano ready to erupt.

Another stroke just in time and coordinated with the tongue inside of him and Will forgot all words in the human language except for–

_ "Hannibal!" _ He screamed the only word he knew because he had no control over his body or his mind anymore. Everything was  _ Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal _ and Hannibal so effortlessly threw him onto the floor, with his back over the plastic sheets and Will wanted to whimper and complain because Hannibal’s tongue was not on him anymore.

But the complaints died in his throat when two fingers slid inside of him replacing Hannibal's tongue. Will's hole was slick with saliva and so open and gaping that two fingers were not even enough. Will was hungry, he was empty and he needed  _ more _ . More of whatever Hannibal wanted to give him as long as he kept touching him and put that awfully manipulative and gorgeous mouth anywhere in Will's body.

Will was so close it hurt, tears were falling free from his eyes and stalling in the shell of his ears. He was so close and Hannibal was a cruel lover that was purposely avoiding Will's prostate for the sadistic sake of torturing him. As if Will haven't been on edge for what felt like, and surely was, an eternity now.

"Marvelous," Hannibal said between Will's legs, nuzzling his cheek against Will’s thigh, two fingers deep and devouring the scene of Will Graham moved nearly to tears and moaning and awestruckingly wrecked under him. "Look at you, you're gorgeous, completely undone by my hand. I want to eat you Will, my darling Will, I'm going to devour you, feast from your flesh and eat your bones clean." 

There was a single spark of relief in Will when he felt Hannibal's erection pressing hard against his naked leg as he moved on top of him. 

Burying his hand in Will's curls Hannibal pulled, making him tilt his head to the side. Using this opportunity Hannibal slid his tongue on Will's ear like if it is an oasis to chase the poor rebel tears from overstimulation conglomerating there.

"Delicious," Hannibal’s fingers pressed Will's prostate making more tears to flow. "I'm going to drink your tears and your seed and your blood," he said kissing Will's cheek, flat tongue wet and hot chasing the threads of salt and water of his skin, "and then I'm going to cut open your flesh and I'm going to eat your heart." 

Will twisted on the floor, partly in shame and partly in pleasure, because this was the most disgusting and hot dirty talk he could think of.

"But for that, my dear Will, you'll have to ask."

Hannibal could as well have ordered him to do it, because at this point Will had no other option. Not when his cock head was purple and steel hard, swollen and hurting, his stomach shining with accumulated precum and Hannibal was two fingers deep brushing his prostate that felt as abused as he felt right now even if it had been hardly given the attention Will wanted. But Hannibal was a sadist devil, a merciless king that wanted to see Will come to him, and for him, willingly.

Will was going to ask him, God forgave him, he was going to beg if Hannibal wanted him to. But if Will was coming undone, making a mess of himself so was Hannibal Fucking Lecter. 

Antlers, blood and infinite teeth and black skin as oil flashed behind Will's eyes as he managed to make at least one of his limbs finally react and do what he wanted it to do. He tore Hannibal’s dress pants, yanking them open and grabbing Hannibal's cock. With the other hand, Will brought three fingers to his own mouth pulling the tongue out and licking them until drops of saliva fell like diamonds between them and drool started dripping to his chin and towards his neck. 

Hannibal's eyes were blown wide at the sight, black as the void, and Will wondered if his own were the same. Hannibal's dick was pumping and thick in his hand when Will pulled his soaked fingers inside of Hannibal's mouth and said "Eat me, Hannibal,  _ please. _ "

And now his prostate  _ finally _ felt abused as he had three, no,  _ four _ fingers deep pressing it hard. Hannibal other hand stroking his dick tight and fast and Hannibal's mouth biting his fingers– and Hannibal's eyes on him, expressive and deep and there was blood and Will was coming and coming and he couldn't stop and his cum was mixing in his abdomen with his sweat and Hannibal's cum and it was glorious.

But more glorious was to see Hannibal come apart, devouched. Hair rustled and face flushed as he licked their combined cum from Will's abdomen; and the more glorious it felt when they kissed and it was gentle. It was slow and it tasted like them, like their cum and Will's tears and blood.

"I think," Hannibal said after a while when he recovered some sense of decorum and breath, "I should start cutting you now before the anesthetic and the adrenaline wears off. Do you think you can keep still while I do it?"

Will watched him, boneless from the kitchen floor. He couldn't move, he couldn't think. He was immensely grateful that his body could breath by itself. Hannibal should be grateful that Will couldn't even speak and his brain wasn’t functioning because if it had he would have called him all types of names. 

Then, Will remembered that he had been asked a question, and did the only thing he could do and rolled his eyes while Hannibal rolled him onto his stomach. Will heared him cut his thighs and placed the meat in a trail that who the fuck knew where it came from. 

Hannibal's voice humming some vague song that sounded like some classic opera, the smell of sex, cum and blood shouldn't sooth him. Still it did, and Will didn’t fight his eyes as they closed.

  
  


[x]

The table was set and Will fidgeted in the chair. Hannibal had not taken much, there were only four slices of meat divided between the two plates, but Will's thighs hurt like hell. 

It was not insufferable, but it made him uncomfortable.

Before, a couple of hours ago, he thought he was ready to eat himself. He thought that if it was him who was on the plate it wouldn’t be  _ that _ bad. He was wrong, and now he was an anxious mess. 

"I want you to take the first bite." Will rushed to say, hiding his face from Hannibal in front of him, "I understand you. The dinner is not only a dinner. Is a show, for your guest and for yourself.” He clenched his jaw, _oh for fuck’s sake now all those puns make sense._ “You enjoy watching them eat the meat unaware of what it is. Watching their first bite is more enjoyable than eating yourself."

"I'm guilty of enjoying my guests pleasure." Will huffed,  _ unbelievable _ .

"Really? After all this you're playing omission?" He quirked an eyebrow while nodding to his plate, all the anxiety evaporating and leading the space to the utter, not fond, absolutely  _ not fond, _ exasperation. 

Hannibal smiled with more teeth than Will thought a human should have, resting his head on his hand. He also didn't seem to plan adding anything.  _ Huh, so he finally shuts up? _ Very well, Will didn't care. 

"Since I chopped my hand last week I couldn't help myself.” Will started, smiling playfully, “I've been thinking about you eating it, eating me, non-stop. You changed me Hannibal." He said with a smirk, letting his mind absorb and mimic some of Hannibal’s self assurance and lack of shame. What a better way to set a honeytrap for a narcissist cannibal than offering dinner and a mirror. 

He did everything to avoid looking at Hannibal in the eyes or at his own plate, anxiety still heavy in his gut. Finally, he took a deep breath,  _ control yourself _ , and looked at Hannibal in the eyes as serious and sure as he could, "I want to watch you take the first bite."

Hannibal's smile didn't fade under Will's sharp glare and didn’t seem to suspect about Will’s unease. Instead he looked pleased, sickeningly adoring while grabbing Will's hand, leaning over the table to place a gentle kiss on its back.

"Gladly." Hannibal said and it was disgusting how lovesick he looked.

Will watched, unblinking, as Hannibal's long and elegant fingers cut and stabbed his flesh with long and elegant cuttery made of real silver (because Hannibal had said that he deserved no less, and that if he had had cuttery made of gold he would have use that because Will's flesh only deserved something alike, close to it's value) and take it to his elegant lips. 

When Hannibal had eaten Will's flesh last time he closed his eyes, letting himself drown on Will's flavour and the sensation.

Now he looked at Will directly into the turbulent blue eyes, now free from the glasses, now with their relationship free from barriers.

"And? How do I taste Doctor Lecter?" Will asked, raising a brow. Hannibal smiled.

"Exquisite." 

Will snorted, leaning back to his chair, flinching slightly at the movement. The tissue of his legs still burned against the chair.

"Allow me," Hannibal said, extending his hand, holding the fork with a piece of meat in it.

Will chucked humourless, "It's my legs what hurt, not my hands, Hannibal."

"Indulge me Will, just this once."

"I think you have been thoughtfully indulged all evening."

"Only I?" 

Will grimaced, looking at Hannibal with the same murderous glare he gave him from the kitchen floor. Hopefully, one day Will would yield the power to throw knives from his eye-sockets at will. But not today.

Will knew it was going to taste great. Everything that Hannibal cooked always tasted amazing. This wasn't going to be an exception and he knew it. But even knowing it, he was not prepared.

Will leaned forward, opening his mouth and letting Hannibal feed him… well, himself.

Will had been feeling hungry since he tasted Hannibal's blood. He had been feeling hungry and empty today. His teeth ached since he tasted Hannibal and the only thing that made that pain and the hunger recede was being wrecked under Hannibal's touch.

Will tasted himself and suppressed a moan for the sake of what was left of his already compromised sanity and dignity. 

Now Will finally felt  _ satiated. _

"And? How do you taste, Will?" Hannibal watched him and couldn’t avoid thinking how astonishingly beautiful Will looked when he was in pain, when he was fighting with the darkness and aware that he was losing. Will fighting back his tears looked as gorgeous as he looked moaning and undone on the floor asking for more. Like Saint Sebastian while he was being pierced by arrows, both rapturous and pained.

A single, lonely tear fell across Will's face, shining more than the most precious diamond, when Will said, with the most broken voice, "I taste delicious."

_ Oh, _ Hannibal wanted to swallow him _ whole _ .

  
  
  


[x]

Will groaned as he sat in Jack Crawford's office the next day.

The back of his thighs still hurt like hell, and probably would keep hurting for a couple more days.

"How did it go?" Jack asked and Will found himself wanting to have knife throwing vision again. At least Jack made no comment about how Will walked or the difficulty he had to sit. "Did he tell you something? Did he incriminate himself in any way?"

Will thought of his own flesh on the fine china, of Hannibal's omissions about killing and eating people as if he wasn't eating Will’s flesh  _ right there.  _ He thought of Hannibal feeding him. Will thought of their kiss on the kitchen floor and Hannibal’s tongue and hands and teeth. He thought about Hannibal telling him how he was going to tear him apart and eat him to the bones. He thought about Hannibal eating him alive. 

He tried not to think about eating  _ with _ Hannibal.

"I need more time. He hadn't confessed or said anything compromising. Only played games of omission." The anxiety itched under his skin, the constant stab of hunger growing with every passing day; his whole body aching, stomach, teeth and brain, and he could feel his wounds bleeding. He needed to change the bandages soon.

"Are you okay Will?" 

_ No. I'm not.  _

"What do you think, Jack?"

Jack looked truthfully pained when he said, "I'm sorry." 

_ No, you're not.  _ Will wanted to say,  _ you want to catch him and you're going to do whatever's necessary, no matter what, and so do I. _ At least Jack had the decency to look sincerely sorry. 

"Do you think that what you ate was..."

"I know it was, Jack." Will growled. 

The silence stretched tense, the only sound were the voices outside the hall and the constant _ tap tap tap _ of Jack fingers over his desk. 

"Was it difficult?" Jack asked, "to know what was on your plate?"

Will wanted to laugh. 

He wanted to live in Jack's little precious world, good and just, in which the worst thing Hannibal could do was to feed him people.

Will wanted to laugh, Will wanted to tell Jack that cannibalism had been the least cruel thing Hannibal had ever done to him.

He had a lot more options to choose from. 

The little sparkle of Abigail’s eyes and the wet sound of flesh against his kitchen sink. How cold and lonely his cell at the BSHCI was. The sound of Will’s own laugh and the sparkle of joy in maroon eyes in his office. The warmth of Hannibal’s study, the sweetness of the shared wine in intimate fire-light. The cold sweats at 3 A.M. against his fevered skin. The cold and hard  pavement under his hurting feet. Beverly’s laugh. The insane amount of invisible and bleeding scars on Will’s back. The broken friendship. The loving caresses and soft lips against his own and the promise of an eaten heart. 

Hannibal had done worse things to him than forced (or willing) cannibalism. 

He had made Will feel cared for, understood. He had made Will want more. Want  _ him. _

Will wanted to say it all to Jack. 

Will said nothing.

  
  


[x]  
  


“You know, when I told you to have sex with him I wasn’t expecting you to really do it.” Beverly sat a couple of feet from him, Zoe sitting with her on the couch. Will couldn’t see her, didn’t want to, didn’t try to. 

Laying on the bed, eyes closed and with his arm thrown over them, Will said, “Me neither.” 

“You can’t even imagine how angry I am right now.” She said, and she sounded angry. Very, indeed. Less angry than Will at himself, but still very much angry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEELINGS? IN MY MONSTERFUCKER CRACK FIC? More likely than you think.  
> See you on monday loves, when we enter the P L Ö T.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember, this fic is finished and I'll be uploading every monday, and _maybe_ a little bit between because some of the chapters are shorter, so be sure to suscribe. 
> 
> Kudos and comments fill my heart with joy. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
